


/Bad New York accent/ Hey!! I'm Drabblin' Here

by dubpubs



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Apritello, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Multi, There are no rules here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-13 11:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubpubs/pseuds/dubpubs
Summary: TMNT 2012/Apritello drabbles.1 - Donnie and April (mainly April) decide to take a break.2 - Mikey consoles his big brother.3 - Donnie never asked for it, but Casey gives him his approval anyway.
Relationships: Donatello (TMNT)/April O'Neil
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	1. On a break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already regret that title but it's too late now
> 
> IDK ya'll it's been a bit of a downer week so far and this sad Donnie/April shit came out of nowhere. I don't usually consistently write fic so it's wild that the words just keep coming! Also I definitely don't unpack shit on my favorite characters, shhh that's not a thing

"I think maybe we need to talk."

_ Oh god no. No. What? No. _

Donatello turns to face her slowly, his expression hollow, his heart teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff. This is it. The moment April is finally done trying to deal with all this, done putting in all this extra work to make _ them _ work. Fuck. He thought he had more time.

April blanches upon seeing the look on his face, grabs his shoulder comfortingly. "Oh, Jesus Donnie, I shouldn't have - that came out wrong. Please stop making that face, I'm not about to break up with you okay?"

Turns out, he can't just turn off 'that face’ - his features quaver as they rush to reform into something a little less terrified, and he can only nod once.

"I just meant - I can tell you’ve had some stuff on your mind lately, because… you know,” April gestures around her temple, the slightest bit shamefaced, “And I think maybe we should talk about it. That’s all.”

Donnie’s gut tells him to deny everything, because there’s no way admitting the things he’d been thinking to April’s face could lead anywhere good, but she’s staring at him with such an honest gaze that he can’t bring himself to flat out lie to her - the end result is wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights silence. He probably looks even stupider than he feels. _ Real smooth, Donatello. _

April smooths her fingers over her ponytail like she just needs something to do with her hands, obviously put off by his non-answer, rightfully so. “...Is this about the other night?” She tries. “Because I promise, I really was fine. We’re okay.”

“...Are we?” Donnie hears himself murmur, inner alarm bells sounding off left and right. Oh, this is bad. All the things he’s been dwelling on, all the could-be conversations he’s been having with her inside his head, all the hopelessness, all the _ crazy_, it’s all bubbling up now and he can’t stop it.

Her hand leaves his shoulder, her back straightens defensively. “Wha’d'you mean.”

“I mean-” _ Shut up shut up!! _ Donnie’s brain snarls, but he doesn’t listen, “-it’s just _ another _ thing that you have to be okay with not having, _ ever _, a-and I -”

“And this is me telling you that I _ am _okay with it,” April’s frown furrows deeper into her forehead. 

"Yeah, but we both know you can do better.”

He regrets the weary, haggard words the second they rush out of his mouth. Why the hell did he say that? Maybe it was the fear talking, or the constant uncertainty. Actually, it was probably the guilt, if he had to give his best guess - all the things he knows he’s holding her back from, all of the things she’s given up, all of it gnawing away at Donatello’s insides bit by bit as he lies awake at night. 

Aprils head jerks up at his comment, one harsh motion. "What did you just say?" She asks quietly, her voice dark and dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

Purple mask tails flutter around his shoulders as the turtle hurriedly shakes his head, his heart racing faster and faster. _ You moron. Fix this!! _ "I, I just meant that - I mean, _ objectively_, certain things would be easier if-"

_ Wrong answer, wrong answer-! _

"_Stop _ that. Just - stop. I don’t want to hear it anymore, okay?”

“Sorry,” Don apologizes immediately, reflexively. April ignores his apology, looking exasperatedly at nothing, her hand clutching her forehead as she shakes her head.

"I don’t understand. What are... are you _ trying _ to get me to break up with you? Is that what this is? What am I supposed to think here, why are we having this conversation _ again?” _

“N-no, no I would never-”

"Like,” April interrupts coldly, “you do realize I can feel all of your doubt, right?"

Donnie can only swallow hard as he stares at her, frozen, a hard lump forming in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I really don't mean to pry into your head, I don't even _ want _ to feel this stuff but sometimes I can't turn it off and that shit is _ strong, _ Donnie. The doubt that I'm _ always _ feeling... coming from you."

"April," he tries. His voice comes out so small, so pathetic.

"I feel all of it, Donnie. _ All _ the time, I feel you doubting all of this, and... maybe I can sort of understand where it's coming from, like I get that it hasn’t been easy for you, but it still hurts, okay? It's like... you still don't believe me, even when I look you in the eye and tell you this is what I want. A-and that _ sucks_."

Donnie's mouth opens and closes helplessly. This whole time, he’d been so worried about hurting her, painstakingly taking what he thought were all the necessary steps to avoid that, and what did he go and do? Hell, she _ does _deserve better. 

He has more than an inkling as to where this is going. And turns out, now that the moment is here, he can't move, can’t bring himself to say a thing in his defense. Just. Fucking frozen. 

"I could understand it better when we first,” April gestures a hand between them, swallowing hard before she goes on, her voice growing thicker, “but _ now _? This far in? If you still can't trust me, if you're just... sitting there waiting for me to break up with you, then... I dunno, Donnie. I don’t know what else I can say at this point."

“It’s not like that,” he manages finally, his voice coming out warped as it makes its way around the lump, “I’m not…”

“That’s a _ lie_, Don,” Her eyes finally turn back up to him, hard and blue and _ sad_, and there’s a hopelessness in them that scares the _ shit _ out of him. “You can’t lie to me about this stuff, what part of ‘_I can feel it'_ don’t you get?” 

"W-what can I do? To f-fix it?" Donnie whispers, cursing how hard his voice is shaking. Pathetic. "Please, Ap-pril... I'll do anything, just tell me what I need to do."

April sighs heavily at his words. Clearly that wasn't what she wanted to hear. 

"I know you would... maybe that's part of the problem." She looks away, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and a painful, heartbreaking silence passes between them. Finally she adds softly, "... I don't know. I’m just tired of feeling like this, I guess. I… I need some time to think. We both do, probably."

_ No. No. No. _ How, _ how _could he have fucked this up so badly already? He thought he had more time. Was the quick peck they had shared over coffee this morning really going to be their last kiss? It couldn’t be. This is not happening.

He watches her, paralyzed, as she picks her backpack up from the lab table and slings it limply over her shoulder, sorrowful brown eyes growing wet and red.

"Pl-_please _ ," Donnie poorly chokes down a sob, hoping she didn't hear it, knowing he's not that lucky, "d-don't... I'm _ sorry_."

"I'm sorry too,” April sniffs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just. Need a little time, okay?” Determinedly not looking at him, the redhead walks brusquely out of his lab.

His bottom lip trembles violently. Donnie hears, rather than sees, the metal door scrape shut, his blurred vision glued to a chip in his desk. His breath hitches so hard it hurts. Everything hurts, and she’s gone, and his lab is too silent. 

The tears begin to slip down his cheeks as his heart finally teeters over the edge of the cliff, shattering at the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'( Sorry about that ya'll. They get back together and end up together 5ever, I promise, I just like making Donnie cry
> 
> I'm actually feeling weirdly open to TMNT 2012 drabble requests, bonus points for Apritello requests. If you've got any ideas you think might work with my writing style, shoot em at me! Thanks for reading my sad word vomit, peace nerds


	2. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 - Mikey consoles his big brother.
> 
> This week continues to kick my ass, writing about sad Donnie helps somehow. Here's a little follow up to chapter one, brotherly comfort style. Thanks so much for the kudos and comments on the first chap (especially crowdog, your hilarious/thoughtful comments continue to make posting this shit worth it, dawg)

“Don? Gotta make sure you’re alive in there, bro, can I come in?”

There’s no answer giving him the go ahead, but Mikey turns the knob anyway.

When he peeks into the dark bedroom, he finds Donnie curled on his side in bed. His threadbare purple blanket has been kicked to the foot of the bed, and his beak is inches from his T-phone, one wide thumb swiping away at the screen. There’s not a single light on in here, and the air feels still and stale, giving the room a distinctly gloomy feel. Oddly enough, Don isn’t wearing his mask, the blue light of the phone screen illuminating his bare features, which look… terribly, terribly exhausted. And especially miserable. 

Mikey’s orange mask furrows sadly. Ah, sewer apples. He had known something was off and wanted to make sure Donnie had his space (over the years he’s learned, the D-man needs his space), but he’s realizing now that he should never have waited so long to come in here.

His big brother doesn’t acknowledge his presence right away, his thumb continuing to swipe mechanically. Mike catches a glimpse of a selfie of Donnie and April on the tiny T-Phone screen, both of them making silly faces at the camera, before Donnie realizes himself and clicks it off, sending the room into darkness apart from the light coming from the hall.

Mikey plops himself down on the edge of the bed, clasps his thick fingers together. “Sooo. You are not okay.”

“Really. What makes you say that.” Donnie replies in the flattest of monotones.

“...Wanna talk about it?” 

Donnie shakes his head slowly, his eyes glazed over, like he’s not even here. Something inside Mikey tells him to shut up and wait for his brother to talk, so he does. Eventually the lanky turtle sits up to situate himself on the edge of the bed next to Mikey, his shoulders hunched and dejected, somehow making the simple action look painstaking as hell, which lowkey breaks Mikey’s heart.

Donnie says nothing at first. Just sits there, slumped and so obviously sad. It’s hard for him to do so, but Mikey forces himself to wait, twiddling his fingers and tapping his feet against the concrete.

“...It’s over, Mikey,” Donnie finally whispers, his voice little more than a soft croak. “Me and April.”

Mikey’s heart plummets. Donnie and April, not a thing anymore? That can’t be right. “Whuh? Whaddya mean it’s over?”

“She broke up with me...” oh, jeez, he sounds so dead inside, this is bad, this is _bad _bad, “...two days ago.”

“Oh… _dang_.” Mikey fumbles for what to say. “Uh… are ya sure?”

Donnie looks over at him and narrows his eyes, but it’s a broken sort of glare that’s not the least bit intimidating. “Am I _sure_. Am I sure she walked out of here two days ago and hasn’t spoken to me since? _Yes_, I am pretty damn sure.”

“Nah man, I mean like… did she actually _say _the words, _Donnie-I-am-breaking-up-with-you-forever_.”

Donnie doesn’t respond to that, appearing to be lost in thought. 

“...Because if she didn’t,” the younger turtle continues tentatively, “then maybe there’s still a chance, you know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Donnie sighs. He picks up his phone to halfheartedly click it back on and stare down at the lock screen, and Michelangelo sees over his shoulder that there are no new messages. “I wouldn’t blame her if there wasn’t.”

“C’mon man, don’t say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t, though,” Don’s massive Adam’s apple bobs deeply in his throat, a pained look on his face. “I… I really screwed this up, Mikey. She told me she needs time, and...I just wish I knew what that meant. Or at least, how long she meant... I don’t know.”

Mikey has no idea how to respond. What the heck could his weird-but-totes-harmless brother have done that was so bad? Like, sure, Donatello is sarcastic to the point of douchery sometimes, Donatello is a know-it-all, Donatello can be quick to anger and a little bit of a mad-scientist-vibe psycho, but... when it comes down to it, Don is also one of the kindest and most considerate people out there, as far as Mikey’s concerned. Even more so when it comes to April. 

Mikey is curious as hell, now. Now’s probably not the time to ask about Donnie’s so-called relationship sins, but _man _the urge is hard to resist. 9 times out of 10 he would’ve said screw it and asked anyway, because he’s the goofy little brother and his brothers are obligated to forgive him for whatever dumb stuff he ends up doing. But the look on Donnie’s face makes him keep his questions to himself for now.

“I’m sorry, D,” Mikey eventually settles on a generic apology, gently resting his head on his taller brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you guys were havin’ issues. You both seemed so happy.”

“...Really?” Donnie mumbles, back in that faraway tone.

“Pshh, are you kidding? You and April have both been schmoopy-eyed nerds for months, dude. Like, you kinda would’ve thought the schmoopy-eyed-ness would’ve died down a little bit by now, but nah, you guys are still like, _stupid_ adorable together.”

“Were,” Donnie corrects him. “Not are.”

Man. This is worse than he expected. His brother is _so _not okay. Every time Donnie talks in that dead-man-walkin’ voice, Mikey feels like he’s being punched in the chest. He’s gotta do something to help his bro, because this extreme level of Donnie-sad is just… unacceptable, yo. Donnie is supposed to be up and playing pinball with him, or getting his butt kicked in training but always gettin’ back up without much grumbling, or puttering around his lab working on rad sciencey inventions with his equally rad sciencey girlfriend. Not alone in his room, in the dark, doing nothing. 

“I just wish I could,” Donnie starts, but his voice pitches up mid sentence and he cuts off abruptly. 

“You could what?” Mikey asks soothingly.

Donnie just shakes his head, his eyes on the floor and his lips pressed together tightly, apparently unable to get out whatever he wanted to say. 

“...This _sucks_, Mikey,” he whispers after a few seconds, sounding close to tears. 

“Yeah... I know, bro.”

They sit in silence together for a moment before Donnie sniffs, his head bowing closer to his chest, his shoulder ultra stiff where Mikey is still leaning against it. All the signs of about-to-cry Donnie are there, but the freckled turtle knows well by now that his somewhat proud older brother doesn’t like to cry in front of people, so now is the time to help him out and say something extra comforting.

“Hey. April _loves _you, D,” Mikey rubs a hand up and down Donnie’s arm. “For real, we can all tell that much. She’s gonna come around, ‘kay? Like, I really think she will. Just gotta give it a lil’ time.”

Donnie nods, trying to be subtle about wiping his eyes with another soft sniffle.

“Come on, come to the kitchen with me,” Michelangelo hops to his feet, trying to transfer some of his own positive energy to his big brother. “Let ol’ Mikey make ya somethin’ tasty.”

“...Pizza?” Don tilts his head up and - ah, there it is. A tiny little Donnie smile. No sign of the tooth gap with this one, but Mikey is determined to get there.

“Uh _duhh_,” Mikey tilts rolls his eyes. “Can’t believe you even have to ask. Get with the _program_, Donnie.”

Donnie makes a sound that’s not really a full on laugh, more like just a half of one, but Mikey will take it.

He takes a couple steps towards the door, turning to look back over his shell to see that his brother hasn’t moved an inch, still sitting hunched on the edge of his bed. “You comin?” Mikey asks hopefully. “I’ll make you your favoriteee... no gummy bears or anchovies this time, cross my heart.”

Donnie sighs again, deep and weary. “...Okay.” He finally stands, his joints popping from not having moved enough today. Plucking up his purple mask from the bedside table, he follows the youngest turtle out the door.“Thanks, Mikey,” Donnie says quietly but sincerely as he passes, but pointedly avoids Mikey’s big blue gaze. Mikey doesn’t take it personally. This is Donnie-happiness progress, right here.

“Hey dude. You know I gotchu,” Mikey fingerguns his beloved nerd of a big brother with one hand, pulling the door to Donnie’s dark bedroom shut behind them with the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, send me requests if you have them! my brain feels like an empty cavern but I still have a weird urge to write. I did kinda start a drabble on Casey giving Donnie his blessing about potentially dating April tho, lolz we'll see how that one turns out. I got a big ol soft spot for Casey Jones. I was Casey for Halloween/also at a con this year and just sayin I made a rad Casey so now we're bonded fa lyfe lmao


	3. Approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 - Donnie never asked for it, but Casey gives him his approval anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2012 Casey is a fave of mine, and I'd never written him before, so that needed to be remedied.

Casey finally steps back from the old, heavily modified and armored up Sports Car, twirling a wrench in his long fingers. “Damn, son. Think we might’ve outdone ourselves this time. This is like some James Bond shit or somethin’!”

The purple-banded mutant turtle at his side chuckles gleefully in that prideful, I-know-I’m-a-badass way. “Ho-ho, yeah. She’s a beaut!” Donatello slams the hood shut, brushes his 3-fingered hands together a few times for a job well done.

Casey Jones, thick headed, vigilante-extraordinaire-turned-college-man (college man mainly thanks to Donnie’s patience, generosity and tutoring/hacking skills) won major brownie points when he’d inexplicably rolled home for summer break in a rusty, rumbling, barely functional '97 Camaro. While Raph and Leo instantly deemed it a junkheap, all Donnie saw when he looked at the beat up car was _potential_, and so did Casey. The two of them had been repurposing it on and off all summer, and their pet project was finally coming to an end.

“Man, I can’t _wait_ to test out that engine—we takin’ her for a spin or what? You better not say no again.”

“_No_,” Don says firmly, ignoring Casey’s whiny groan of disapproval. “I need to revise the code for the targeting system, remember? It’s still buggy.”

“Come on man, we don’t need to fire the weapons to _drive_ it,” Casey protests.

Donnie turns up his beak with an air of superiority, wiping his dirty hands on a rag. “You are not screeching out of here in this thing until she’s _fully functional_, Jones. The end.”

“_Wet freakin’ blanket_,” Casey grumbles under his breath, which again, Donnie ignores. Together the pair begins to put away tools and parts in the bigger garage just a couple of tunnels away from the lab, the bluetooth speaker spewing out grunge rock filling the silence as they work. A few minutes later, Casey’s obnoxious throat clear breaks that easy silence, prompting the turtle to turn a begrudging glance upon him.

“_Soo_,” Casey begins with a smirk and hooded eyes, which Donnie does not appreciate at _all,_ although he can’t pinpoint why. It doesn’t matter. Casey making that face cannot mean anything good.

“So what?”

“So, you and April,” Casey says simply, and those three words are all it takes for Donnie to freeze, his cheeks flushing with color. He stares blankly at his human friend, surprised he would bring it up.

This is just… awkward. What the heck is Casey expecting him to say? April and Casey dated for almost half a year, and the relationship ended less than half that time ago. Early May, to be specific. And now it’s nearing the end of the summer, quite possibly the best summer of Donnie’s life, because he and April have been… 

What have they been, exactly? 

Well, nothing more than they usually are, technically. Friends. Best friends. Super close best friends. Much-more-touchy-feely-than-they-used-to-be best friends. Best friends who, Donnie is 86 percent sure, almost kissed last week?

Before he can stop it, Donnie’s brain fogs over with the lucid memory of silky red strands tickling his shoulder and cheek (recently chopped to her chin, god, the new look is amazing) the faint scent of coconut oil mixed with dried sweat in his nostrils. Legs swaying easily off the edge of the granite clock tower, unphased by the sight of the city street hundreds of feet below... a slim, toned arm sheathed in black leather bumping against his own, pale peach fingertips inching closer and closer to his as they waited for sunrise. 

It was after a particularly harrowing patrol that the two friends headed to one of their hidden spots atop an old Byzantine-esque building (used to be a bank headquarters, since converted to luxury condos), just to hang out and blow off some steam, post bad-guy-busting snacks and a couple of gatorades April grabbed from a 24/7 convenience store stuffed in her backpack. They’d ended up staying there for hours, just talking and enjoying the warm night air, neither much aware of the passing time; by the time the sky had turned faintly pink, April’s head was firmly set on Donnie’s shoulder. The side of her pinky finger brushing against his chunky could-you-call-it-a-pinky. She’d looked up at him, and he caught her gaze, the glint in her blue eyes fond, tender, almost… dare he say it… expectant. So _beautiful_. His instincts pleaded with him to _move_, do something, to answer her silent call. But Donnie stayed put, his throat dry as a bone, suddenly all too aware of the seconds dragging by. Unwilling to take the risk. Heavily self-trained, in fact, not to. 

Eventually the sun started rising, and April had given him a little smile before lifting her head and looking towards the east. And poof, moment over. 

Pretty much all Donnie has done since then is wonder what would’ve happened if he’d been brave, for once.

Donatello blinks back to himself, his heart pounding annoyingly hard beneath his plastron. Right. Casey had asked him a question. Sort of. Not really.

“Yeah. Not really sure _or_ interested in where you’re going with this,” Donnie mutters in a snarky, _I-don’t-have-time-for-your-BS-Casey-Jones_ tone, mainly because he doesn’t know how else to sound.

Casey snorts and flashes a crooked smile full of pearly dental implants—his college hockey scholarship has been good to him. “Uh huh, _sure_ you’re not sure. You’re so full of shit, Don.”

“Excuse me?”

“You really tryna tell me, to my face, that you haven’t noticed the way April’s been hanging all over you lately? Thought you were s’posed to be some kinda _genius_, dude.”

Casey waves his hands around mockingly at ‘genius’; Donnie is painfully aware of his face and neck heating up further. ‘Uncomfortable’ does not begin to describe this conversation. Without meaning to, his hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“I-I mean I… maybe I’ve noticed.”

“_There_ he is, the smart one. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shut up.”

There’s another pause. Donnie can’t help himself—he decides to brave it.

“Er- do you…” Donatello pauses to swallow, lick his dry lips nervously, and mentally reword the question. He can’t believe he’s talking to _Jones_ about this, of all people—yeah they’re friends, good friends, but there are places they just _don’t go_—but dammit, lately Donnie has felt so frustratingly _close_ to what’s supposed to be the unachievable, so confused and desperate to know the answer to this question. “Um, I mean, you think she really, might…?”

The young mutant stops, hearing himself and how stupid he sounds, then _really_ looks at Casey, who now seems extra focused on buffing a spot off the hood of the weaponized Camaro. His heart drops into his enormous feet, the shame hitting him full force. What the hell is he thinking? They might all be friends here, but at the end of the day this is Casey’s _ex_ he’s stammering on about like a loser. 

“Sorry, I,” Donnie shakes his head, purple mask tails swinging side to side as he turns away to pointlessly rearrange a few tools within the box, “that was—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you this. Just ignore me.”

He nearly jumps out of his shell when a gangly, engine-greasy hand lands on his stiff shoulder. 

“Dude, s’okay. I’m the one who brought it up, remember?” Donnie turns back around hesitantly, finding Casey fiddling around with the quarter inch socket wrench that has somehow made it back in his hand. “Me and Red… we had a good run. Wasn’t meant to be, but, y’know, no regrets, or nothin’.” He shrugs and tosses the wrench into the box. “Anyways, Casey Jones is a free agent now, and totally diggin’ it. Like, I _wish_ you could see some of the girls at my school, bro.” He holds his hands out in front of him for a lewd, 100% douchey gesture that Donnie reflexively rolls his eyes at. “Chicks go crazy for dudes on sports teams, and lucky for me that includes hockey, baby,” Casey finishes with a winning smile.

The turtle narrows his eyes, a tingling feeling of disbelief running over his pebbled skin. “...Is. Is this your weird way giving me your approval, or something?”

“I’unno, so what if it is?”

Donnie continues to stare, his mouth slightly agape and the gap between his teeth on full display. Casey throws up his hands defensively, the action causing his guns to bulge within the sleeves of his ratty, paint-splattered New York Rangers t-shirt (blockhead probably did that on purpose). “What,” Casey complains, “a guy can’t want his friends to be happy anymore? Sheesh.”

Donnie raises a purple masked brow and crosses his arms in front of his grease-streaked plastron. “Not that I _needed_ your approval, but uh...” Donnie allows a small smile to crack through his oh-so-unimpressed facade. “I suppose, it’s appreciated, nonetheless.”

The long-haired hooligan in front of him grins back. “Anytime, assmunch. ‘Kay, now the question is, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“What am I going to do about _what_, you bumbling bedlamite?”

Casey gets momentarily distracted, his freckled nose wrinkling. “The fuck is a _bedlamite_?”

Donnie only shoots him a smug, humorless grin. “Google it.”

“Ugh, you’re such a dick, Don. But whatever, I meant —”

“—You skipped ‘C’, dipshit,” Donnie sings airily.

“Fuck off! I was _sayin’, _what are you gonna do about April? Like you gonna make a move or what?” Casey’s notched eyebrows wiggle up and down behind his black bangs, up into the line of his bandana.

Donnie blinks at that, busying his hands by removing his goggles from his head, wiping them down with a small cloth he keeps in a pouch in his belt. “...I don’t know. What, you think I should?”

“Pshhyeah, _duh_. Go do the thing and be happy nerds together. I mean, why not?”

_Hmmm, maybe because she’s my best friend and I don’t want her to disown me if I have it wrong??! _Donnie yells hysterically in his head, his brown eyes staring off at nothing, but can’t bring himself to say the words aloud.

Casey seems to sense some of his inner turmoil—his friend is acting surprisingly intuitive and kind to him today, Donnie can’t help but wonder what the catch is—and gives him a few hard, encouraging pats on the shell.

“Trust me, Ape’s got a hankerin’ for turtle, yo. Anyone who can’t see that ain’t lookin’. Now you just gotta have the balls to do something about it.” Casey pauses for a lost-in-thought face, and Donnie worries for the guy’s _clearly_ straining brain, until the dumbass opens his mouth again to add thoughtlessly, “...you guys _do_ have balls, right?”

Donnie drives his fist into Casey’s arm, only half pulling the punch. “Casey, I swear to fucking god.” Scowling, he scoops up his toolbox and starts the walk down the tunnel back towards the lab by himself.

“What! It’s a legit question!” Casey calls after him, scampering to catch up, his long legs falling into stride with the towering mutant turtle’s. 

“You’re such an insensitive nitwit,” the sewer walls echo with Donnie’s ‘so done’ voice as they turn a corner out of sight.

“Pff, _whatever_ man, you love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just know Casey Jones is that jackass who straight out asks the turtles about their junk lmao. Thanks for readin!


End file.
